


Life In Technicolor

by Victorionious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Minor Castiel/Dean Winchester, discussion of hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorionious/pseuds/Victorionious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Dean, life had always been vibrant. That's what he claimed, anyway. If he had his way, everyone would think that where they saw blue, he'd see bright beautiful aquamarine that nearly blinded you, rather than the faded, darkened grey-ish blue - vaguely akin to murky seawater. And, most of the time, Dean Winchester got his way.</p>
<p>He snorted into his bottle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life In Technicolor

For Dean, life had always been vibrant. That's what he claimed, anyway. If he had his way, everyone would think that where they saw blue, he'd see bright beautiful aquamarine that nearly blinded you, rather than the faded, darkened grey-ish blue - vaguely akin to murky seawater. And, most of the time, Dean Winchester got his way.

He snorted into his bottle.  _That's rich,_  a voice echoed in his head. The day Dean actually had something he _wanted_  happen to him would be the day he painted his baby redder than the deepest pits of Hell. And he'd seen them. They were pretty fucking red.

He remembered those four months ( _Forty years_ , his mind corrected. He told it to shut up. Silently of course, he's not completely insane. Not yet, anyway.) with explicit detail; no matter how much he drank, it was always there, lingering. For once his life wasn't colored with darks and shadows. It was vibrant, for once. His eyes hurt from the vibrance, and it wasn't in a good way. Not even a remotely good way.

The red would forever be etched into the back of his eyelids. The seeping red of their blood, the fire burning throughout the land, the way it glinted off the metal....

He hated the way he still savored it, sometimes. Every kill they made was both horrifying and satisfying, now. And the latter made the former worse.

Upon getting out of Hell, life had seemed even dimmer. Dean was okay with that though. More than okay with it.

Anything was better than the day the world lost it's color.

The moment the knife slid into his brother's back - Jake, he'd later learned, that  _bastard_ , that foolish bastard that even he couldn't bring himself to hate, despite what he did, because he got it, he'd do anything for his family, anything and everything and for the love of a God that wasn't listening he  _had_  - the moment he saw his baby brother hit the ground it was  _gone_  there was nothing, nothing but grey, grey everywhere. He couldn't see, it was so dark, and Sammy wasn't breathing-

The moment his lips parted from those of the demon, he noted that her eyes were red. Now he wonders if it was a warning of what lurked in Hell. He doesn't think on it too hard.

He drinks from his bottle once he manages to calm the thoughts whirring around his head. The alcohol helps a lot, most days.

That was the first time the world went black. If Dean had his way, he'd be able to honestly say that was the only time.

It wasn't.

* * *

The first time he saw in HD - that's  _high_  definition, 1,064 colors, pixels the size of the head of a pin - was when the angel tilted his head, and said, "I have doubts, Dean." Every feature on Castiel's face came into sharp relief, and it was all Dean could do to hear what he was saying and not just  _stare._  But he had to listen, he had to hear the angel speak.

Dean has never trusted anyone, save his brother. Okay, that's another lie. When he was young, he'd let himself. He'd listen to his father say "I'll be back in a few days" and believe it, be there two days later, looking out the window with a hopeful expression on his face. When one is disappointed too many times, the trust starts to waver. At the tender age of 8, Dean determined that you can't trust anyone, not completely.

And yet, as he looked into those eyes (so blue, they were the bluest blue that Dean had ever seen), he felt a little tug. He wanted to trust him. He wanted to trust this angel. ( _Your angel,_  a voice in his head corrected. He ignored it, like ignored most things.)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in May 2013, and am quite out of touch with the Supernatural fandom (and canon itself tbh it's been a While, man), but I found this and figured I'd post it! So here it is!!! yay
> 
> title from the coldplay song that i probs haven't listened to literally since i wrote this 2 years ago


End file.
